


Of the Darkness in My Heart

by GreatCanadianJackalope (Airla)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Anal Sex, BAMF Stiles, Blood, Established Chris/ Stiles, Fae Stiles Stilinski, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Overstimulation, Stetopher End Game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-07-20 15:26:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16140104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Airla/pseuds/GreatCanadianJackalope
Summary: Wherein no one is willing to help Stiles without an ulterior motive. Well, except Chris of course. Chris is such a good boyfriend. Which should be a good thing, right?Except that Stiles knows better than anyone that having a person for an anchor is a bad idea.





	1. Chapter 1

The sign above them reads: _Beacon County Supe Market – Northern California’s largest selection of locally owned, artisan, and craft supernatural goods._

Ahead of them, there are over a thousand people – people being a relative term of course – milling about and looking at different stalls.

Stiles takes a deep breath and deftly slips through the masses, tugging Chris along as he goes. He’s an expert at navigating the market by now.

 

They pass a selkie woman selling lost treasures of the deep. Stiles snorts to himself. Treasures his ass. There’s nothing in that booth he couldn’t find taking a trip to the bottom of Beacon pond.

 

As they pass a werewolf couple selling pelts and meat from their latest hunt, Stiles tells Chris, “Oh hey, remind me to stop by that stall later. I’m in a hurry right now, but I need a couple vials of the blood of a possum killed on a half moon. Oh, and before you say it, I am sure they don’t actually have any on hand. That doesn’t mean they won’t be able to get some for me.”

 

Chris wrinkles his nose minutely, but nods anyway. Stiles knows that there are parts of the supernatural world that still make Chris uncomfortable. Not that he blames him of course. Almost forty years of indoctrination will do that to a person. Stiles really does appreciates it. Despite it sometimes being awkward for him, Chris is always willing to come when Stiles asks.

 

They’re almost there when Chris finally speaks. “I’m not sure I understand why you still come here. You haven’t had a stall here in over a year.”

 

Stiles skids to a halt and turns to face Chris. “Okay, first of all, rude. So I got my own shop, so what? I’ll have you know that I’m not better than anyone else at this market just because I needed more space. It’s all about community, Chris. Say it with me now. Friendship.” Stiles draws out the last word as he pokes Chris in his chest, his perfectly toned, sexy as hell, chest. Stiles loves to touch Chris’ chest. He loves to run his fingers through his salt and pepper chest hair.

 

Stiles shakes his head of the sexy thought and barrels on, “I could also point out that you would never have met me if it weren’t for this market. You would have missed out on the great love of your life. Not to mention that you’d be dead by now. Goddess only knows what that revenant would have done to you if I hadn’t sold you that knife. Which was some of my best work by the way. Pure silver and runes etched with—“

 

“Stiles,” Chris interrupted sternly.

 

“What?”

 

“Aren’t you supposed to be in a hurry?” Chris asks exasperatedly.

 

Stiles jerks his gaze up and sees that the sun is already setting. “Yep. We’re definitely going to be late.”

 

He rushes past the last row of stalls and into the woods beyond. Stiles curses as he looks around frantically. If he doesn’t get the materials he needs today, he won’t be able to get it for a week. That’s going to make for a pissed off client. And while he would relish the chance to stick it to a Whittemore, he can’t actually afford to make Jackson’s father wait.

 

He’s about to give up and go when he sees it. The smallest glimmer as the light fades behind the tree line. “Gotcha.”

 

He darts toward the glimmer and hums a familiar tune. It should feel foreign to him, after all this time, yet it comes to him as easily as breathing. The world around him bursts with green and gold, and for a moment, he’s blinded. As his eyes adjust, he realizes two things.

 

The first thing is that he’s not in the same woods anymore. It’s midday here, light is pouring through the poplars and making the pond to his left sparkle. The second is that Chris must have been right behind him when he crossed the gateway because he’s standing open mouthed and shocked next to Stiles now.

 

In the clearing ahead of them, a fae man gapes at them in surprise. The man has a sickly green pallor to his skin, and there are vines wrapped around his arms, torso, and legs. His hair is a mess of twigs and leaves. Stiles recognizes him immediately. Clearly he had been packing up his booth when they’d arrived and startled him.

 

Stiles clears his throat and steps forward. “Linnek, my man, I hear you’re the person to come see for some spriggen horn.”

 

This seems to break the spell as Linnek makes a sound uncannily like a Billy goat and addresses Stiles, “Mieczyslaw. I will be honest, for I can not say that I was expecting you.”

 

Behind him he hears Chris mutter, “Mieczyslaw?”

 

“Well, You know what they say. Expect the unexpected and all that,” Stiles says breezily.

 

Linnek grimaces. “No. I do not know what it is they say. Is this some human saying? Is this what you do with your free time? Does the General know this is what you are up to?”

 

“Jeez. Trust a fae to ask a million questions and not say anything at all. Doesn’t matter that you can’t lie, this is why no one trusts you guys,” Stiles grumbles then brightens when his words set in. “Oh hey, how is old Pops anyway?”

 

Linnek snorts derisively. “Well I can not say he will be particularly pleased to hear you came to our realm and didn’t—“

 

Linnek cuts off abruptly as he finally spies Chris and hisses, “You brought a hunter here?”

 

“Nooooo” Stiles draws out. “I brought my boyfriend here. My life partner, my boo, my bae. He’s not a hunter any more. He’s just a really capable human.”

 

Linnek sneers cruelly, “You know, I do know one human saying. What is it again? Ah yes, the apple does not fall far from the tree. Like father, like son. I do not know why I expected more from a half-breed. “

 

Stiles flinches, and he feels a familiar rage wash over him like a dark tide. It’s an old hurt, one he’s known as long as he can remember. It shouldn’t hurt him anymore, but oh it does. He thinks it’s the Vitriol in Linnek’s voice – the unadulterated contempt for him-- that hits Stiles like a blow to the chest.

 

Above them, thunder cracks the sky. He doesn’t need to look up to know that the once clear blue sky is clouding over. He can hear the distant voices calling to him. The voices grow as his anger does. They are singing the old songs, the dark songs. It would be so easy to reach out to them, to join them. For a moment it’s just Stiles and his ancestors, together, in perfect harmony. Together they could unleash their wrath on this insolent child. Together.

 

Yes, together. The thought feels so right it’s almost impossible to ignore.

 

Just before he is swept away completely, Chris lays a palm to his back, presses closer to him, and murmurs lowly in his ear. Stiles feel the all-consuming rage slip away. He thinks this will leave another scar on his soul. He knows this new scar will settle in with the old ones, and all he can hope is that it won’t tear open one day. The day feels like an inevitability, but he still doesn’t like to imagine it. For now, all he feels is exhaustion and irritation.

 

He doesn’t linger too long on the implications of Chris’ calming presence. Stiles knows better than most that people do not make good anchors.  

 

“Listen, Linnek. I didn’t come here to be insulted, and I certainly didn’t come here to fight. Can you get me the horn or not?” Stiles grits out.

 

“Spriggen horn? That’s faerie magic. The way I hear it, you’re only practicing human magic these days.” Stiles shoots him a look, and Linnek holds up his hands, placating. “Look, as I am sure you are aware spriggen horns are incredibly rare. Since we’re not in the habit of slaughtering our brethren and poaching their horns, they can only be collected when they die of other causes. Which as we both know isn’t going to be old age”

 

“Yes, well obviously I was planning to pay you.” Stiles snarks.

 

Linnek shakes his head. “Trust me when I say there is nothing you could possibly possess that would be worth the value of that horn. Now if you are in the market for some stardust or unicorn tears, that I can help you with.”

 

Chris slides his hand up Stiles’ back and squeezes his shoulder. “I think it’s time to cut our losses. You’ll figure something else out for Whittemore’s problem.”

 

Stiles sighs, but nods his head in ascent. Just as they’re turning to go Linnek calls out. “Wait!” He gestures a vine-covered hand at Chris. “You, hunter. You’re an Argent, aren’t you? I can smell that sour tinge of silver anywhere.”

 

Chris says harshly, “I am an Argent by blood and by birth. But I abandoned them well over five years ago – the moment I found out the truth about what they were.”

 

Linnek waved dismissively. “Yes, yes very nice. They trained you though, yes?”

 

Chris nods tersely.

 

Linnek seems to brighten, and the vines that encompass him loosen and start to sprout new leaves and flowers. “Well that changes everything then. While there is nothing Mieczyslaw here can give me, there is something you can do for me, Argent.”

 

The roots that had previously tethered him to the ground begin to recede back into the earth. Linnek walks toward them as he explains, “You see, I have gotten myself into a spot of trouble. A little while ago I wanted to buy a one of kind artifact from a traveling salesman. This salesman was human so of course he wanted money—and a lot of it. Now I don’t usually deal in anything so common as money, so I didn’t have much available to me. You have to understand that I really did want this artifact, so I took the advice the salesman gave me, and went to borrow it from a man who lends money as long as you pay him back with—oh what did he call it? Ah yes, interest.”

 

Stiles barks out a laugh. “You’re telling me you went to a loan shark for money? You weren’t going to trick the dude into giving it to you? What kind of Fae are you?”

 

Linnek glares, but continues, “This man I went to told me that he would be happy to finance my purchase, that a successful trader like myself wouldn’t have any trouble making the money back. I thought he was some kind of sucker. I had no intention of paying him back. After I purchased the artifact with the man’s money, I thought I could just slip back to faery realm and that that would be the end of it. Well it turned out he wasn’t a man at all. It seems he’s a werewolf, and one that has figured out how to come and go as he pleases at that. He’s been very insistent on me paying him back with insane amounts of this interest. Lately he has been threatening my life and well being. If you could find this werewolf and get him off my back, I will give Mieczyslaw the horn.”

 

"You didn’t just go to a loan shark, you went to a werewolf loan shark. A wereshark. A loan wolf,” Stiles wheezes, unable to stop himself from laughing. Sometimes he’s so funny he can’t stand it.

 

Linnek crosses his arms, and the vines on each arm interlock with each other. “You can laugh all you want, but he is becoming a serious problem for me. I don’t even know his name, but either he or his thugs are always around. It is causing me a great deal of stress.”

 

“Whoa. Hold up. You don’t know his name? How are we supposed to find a werewolf loan shark? I’ve never even heard of a werewolf loan shark,” Stiles declares indignantly.

 

Beside him Chris groans audibly. “I have.” He brings a hand up and rubs his forehead the way he does when he thinks Stiles is being particularly exasperating.

 

“His name is Peter Hale.”


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles clutches at the headboard with one hand, desperately trying to brace himself against the force of Chris’ thrusts. His other arm is shaking from the strain of keeping himself propped up for so long. There are drops of sweat dripping down his face, beading on the tip of his nose, and dropping to the sheets below him.

 

They’ve been at this so long now that he can’t ignore how uncomfortable he is. Despite the slow burn of pleasure building deep in his gut, it’s beginning to be too much.

 

“Ah fuck, Chris. I can’t. Fuck, I can’t.”

 

Stiles feels his arm buckle and he collapses into a heap on the bed. This doesn’t seem to deter Chris at all, though. He grips Stiles’ hips hard, hauls him back, and resumes his onslaught immediately.

 

Stiles whimpers. Oh goddess, Stiles does love when Chris manhandles him like this. The friction is on just the right side of too much. If they go any longer, Chris is going to have to add more lube.

 

Stiles hopes that the unrestrained way Chris is hammering at his ass now means that he’ll come soon. Chris is usually so precise with his movements, and he only gets like this when he’s close.

 

Chris reaches beneath him and takes Stiles’ cock into his firm grip. His voice is rough when he speaks. “Come on baby, just one more. You’ve been so good for me. Just one more orgasm for me and then you’re done.”

 

Stiles let’s out a sob. He’s already come twice tonight, and his dick is so sensitive. Between the roughness of Chris’ calloused palm and the soreness in his ass, it’s overwhelming.

 

“I can’t, Chris. Fuck it’s too much. I can’t. It’s too—“ Stiles cries out, cutting himself off. Chris is nailing his prostate now, his thrusts precisely angled again. He presses his thumb into Stiles’ slit just the right way, and that’s it. Stiles comes with a wail, his back bowing and his hands clenched in the sheets.

 

He’s floating, high on endorphins. He doesn’t have any concept of time when he’s like this. He doesn’t know how much longer it took for Chris to come, doesn’t remember him coming at all really. He’s just aware of the warm trickle of Chris’ load as it slides out from inside him.

 

Stiles sighs in contentment as Chris’ arms settle around him. This is always his favourite part if he’s being honest. There is no time that Stiles ever feels safer than when he’s lying in Chris’ arms like this.

 

He let’s himself drift for a while as Chris holds him and murmurs praise in his ear.

 

When Stiles is finally alert again, he realizes that he must have shifted out Chris’ arms because they’re lying apart now. He lifts his head to look over at Chris. Fuck he’s beautiful, Stiles thinks. He’s relaxed now in a way that he only ever is after sex. His limbs are loose and he has a content smile. Stiles would hate to break this peace, but he’s also too curious not to.

 

Stiles clears his throat and asks, “So, not that I didn’t love every second of that -- because believe me I did-- but what got you so riled up?”

 

Chris doesn’t open his eyes when he replies, “Nothing got me riled up. I just wanted you. That’s all.”

 

Stiles rolls over onto his stomach and props his chin on his hand. “Yeah... except you want me all the time, but you don’t fuck me like that all the time. In fact, you don’t usually fuck me that hard for that long unless one of us almost died that day, so what gives?”

 

Chris grunts noncommittally.

 

Stiles reaches a hand over to comb delicately through Chris’ chest hair. Stiles loves Chris’ salt and pepper chest hair. It’s thick and wiry and he can never stop himself from touching.

 

“ Do you want to talk about what happened today?” Chris asks earnestly.

 

“Aw, Chris. I am so glad to hear that I’ve gotten through to you. It’s so important to talk through your feelings. It’s like I always say, we don’t need any of that macho bullshit in our relationship. I’m so proud of you,” Stiles coos.

 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

 

“Yes, and that’s cause there’s nothing to talk about. We went to faerie, we talked to a fae douchebag that’s making us do him a stupid favor, and then we went on our way. That’s it,” Stiles says stubbornly.

 

“Stiles, what happened with the thund—“

 

“I said that’s all that happened, Chris. Please let me live in my world of delusion for a little while longer,” Stiles gripes.

 

They were both quiet for a time. Stiles is just about to fall asleep when Chris speaks again. “Can I just ask one question? It’s been something I’ve been wondering for a while.”

 

Stiles sighs and nods his ascent.

 

Chris speaks slowly, seeming to choose his words carefully, “Why is it that you can lie? From everything I’ve heard about the fae, they can’t lie, and then you said it again today. But you, you have no trouble lying. ”

 

Stiles scoffed. “Let me make something perfectly clear. The fae may not be able to tell a direct lie, but that does not mean anything. It doesn’t change the fact that they are some of the most deceitful, untrustworthy, and manipulative creatures in the world. Do not ever make the mistake of trusting one.”

 

“I trust you,” Chris replies without hesitation.

 

“I am not a fae.” Stiles objects, offended. He want’s to be mad at Chris for even suggesting it, but it isn’t his fault. He deflates and then adds, “Which is exactly why I’m able to lie. I take after my mother significantly more than my father.”

 

He can see Chris’ interest peak when he mentions his mother but he doesn’t comment. Stiles is grateful. Instead he asks, “Why do you say you’re not a fae? Your dad is fae, right? Doesn’t that make you half fae?”

 

Stiles shakes his head. “No. Trust me. They are more than happy with me distancing myself from their name and culture. They don’t take kindly to mutts at all. Especially the particularly dirty ones like me, the ones that present dominantly as human.” He can’t help but let distaste colour his tone.

 

“Don’t,” Chris says sharply and grabs Stiles by the chin, forcing Stiles to look at him. “Don’t ever call yourself that. Don’t ever let anyone call you that. You deserve better than that. And you can lie to yourself and to me all that you want, but I know you. I know that it was what that asshole called you that set your magic off today. I know that this hurts you. Even if you try to play it off or pretend you don’t care.”

 

Stiles’ face crumples and he dives into Chris’s arms, burying his face against his chest. He really doesn’t want to cry. Sometimes he gets so overwhelmed with the weight of what Chris feels for him, and Stiles can’t help but feel that he doesn’t deserve him.

 

In a lighter tone Chris adds, “To be honest I think you take after your dad more than you think because, baby, you are terrible at lying.”

 

Stiles lets out an exaggerated gasp. “You wound me, Chris. I happen to be an excellent liar. I am the best of the best. I’m—oumf” Stiles is cut when Chris’ presses his lips insistently against his.

 

“Go to sleep, baby. We have a long day ahead of us,” Chris says fondly.

 

This reminds Stiles of what he’d been trying to ask him hours ago when Chris decided to maul him. In typical Stiles fashion, he blurts out all his questions at once. “Oh, right, so do you know where this Hale guy lives? Also how do you know a werewolf loan shark? I guess that’s a dumb question cause hunting. But like, who is he? How do you think you get into that profession? Oh wait you said Hale, right? Is he one of Talia’s pack? I didn’t think they were that morally questionable.”

 

“Stiles,” Chris cuts him off exasperatedly. Stiles can’t help but notice Chris has lost the content ease from earlier, his body a line of tension again. He instantly feels a pang of guilt for ruining Chris’ good mood.

 

Chris continues, “Yes, I know where he lives. Yes, I know him from hunting. I have no idea how he got into loan sharking except to say that ‘morally questionable’ is an excellent way to describe him. He is Talia Hale’s brother, but they’re not pack. Peter became an Alpha when he was a young adult. I don’t know what the circumstances surrounding it were, but I do know that he left Talia’s pack, and that now he has his own. That’s all I know. Now go to sleep.”

 

There is something about the brusqueness in Chris’ tone and how dismissive he’s being that makes Stiles pause. It feels like this isn’t nearly all he knows.

 

Still, he knows by now when not to push, and this is clearly one of those times.

 

Stiles settles against his chest, focusing on Chris’ heartbeat. Sleep had seemed so close before, but now Stiles’ thoughts are moving far too quickly to even begin trying to sleep. It doesn’t help that, despite the fact that he’s literally lying on top of Chris, there’s a strange distance settling between them. He feels like he’s crossed some invisible line.

 

This happens sometimes. Chris has a long and awful past that Stiles still knows so little about. It’s not too rare that Stiles says or does the wrong thing and hits a tripwire. Guilt is curling in his gut as he tries over and over to himself that it probably isn’t anything he said or did to cause Chris to react like this. But Chris is right, he’s a terrible liar, especially to himself.

 

Stiles closes his eyes and does what he always does when he can’t get his mind to stop racing: he plans.  

  

  


	3. Chapter 3

“Holy shit this place is massive,” Stiles says to Chris, gaping at the impressive structure ahead of them. The house is all modern lines and glass. Despite it’s luxurious appearance, Stiles can’t help but feel unnerved. Something about the house isn’t quite right.

“Magnificent isn’t it?” A woman asks from behind him. 

Surprised, Stiles whirls around. Chris is standing stock still with his hands raised in a placating gesture. Stiles is horrified to see that there is a set of razor sharp claws held at his throat. 

He feels every protective instinct in him flair up in that moment. Without a second thought he calls to his magic. It’s as easy as breathing, and he will flay the very skin off this wolf’s bones. 

He calls to it, but… it doesn’t come. He tries again. This time, he reaches deep within himself and concentrates, yet it still doesn’t come. 

He feels bereft. His magic has never failed him like this before, not once. He feels panic well up inside him. What is he going to do if he can’t protect Chris? This wolf has her claws less than an inch from his carotid, and he’s just standing there. And Stiles? Stiles can’t do anything right now. He’s completely helpless. They’re completely helpless. 

Except that isn’t right. He might be helpless without his magic, but Chris? Chris has at least four different kinds of weapons on himself at all times. Hell, even if he didn’t, his body is a lethal weapon in it’s own right. Which begs the question, why is he standing there. Surely he should be able to dispatch this werewolf without too much work. Why is – 

“Stiles, take a breath. It’s okay,” Chris says, interrupting Stiles’ mental spiral. His low voice is a soothing balm to Stiles’ nerves.

As Stiles calms, he observes Chris. Now that he’s paying attention, he can see that Chris actually looks composed. Not relaxed, not by a long shot. His body is tensed and ready for action. Still, he looks like he has everything under control. Stiles exhales slowly, and decides to let Chris take the lead on this. 

Chris’ attention shifts from Stiles to the werewolf that’s hidden behind him. “I assure you, the claws aren’t necessary. We just came to talk.”

The wolf trails her claws down Chris’ chest as she stepped out beside him. “Hmm, the hunters we get aren’t usually so talkative.”

The woman’s a bombshell. She has blond curls and pouty red lips, and Stiles can’t help but lament how unfairly beautiful shifters are. 

“I’d like to talk to Hale,” Chris requests calmly. 

Blondie lifts Chris’ chin with one clawed finger. “What makes you think he’d want to talk to you?”

Chris grinds out, “Just tell him that Chris Argent would like to see him. Please.”

Blondie’s eyes flare gold and she snarls. “You shouldn’t have come here. We don’t welcome your ki—“ She cuts off abruptly, cocking her head to the side. 

She lets go of Chris and grins radiantly, her tone shifting again when she speaks, “Well, well, looks like Alpha does want to see you. Follow me.”

She strides off towards the house, her heels clacking against the pavement of the long drive. She doesn’t look back. 

Chris leads Stiles with a hand to his back. The farther into the property they get, the harder it gets for him to shake the wrongness. The air around him is stale and stifling. His chest feels so heavy that he actually has to stop to catch his breath. There is something seriously wrong here, but he can’t quite figure out what. It isn’t helping his nerves that his magic hadn’t responded to him before. 

Chris looks at him with concern and Stiles shakes his head in answer to the unasked question. He mouths, “I’m fine,” and starts moving again. 

Blondie leads them past the spacious front room, up a winding flight of stairs and down a long hallway. She leads them into a study. It’s a beautiful room, filled with dark cherry wood, leather furniture, and plush carpet. 

As Stiles examines the room further he realizes that study is probably an understatement. Through an arch to the left, the room widens into a much larger space, one that is filled floor to ceiling with books. It’s more like a library. 

His fingers itch to go over to the books, to reach out and touch. Judging by the tingling in his fingertips, he’d say quite a few of those books are magic. The thought brings him up short. 

A moment ago, he’d felt completely cut off from his magic, but now it’s like nothing ever happened. The tightness in his chest is gone too. Just to test, Stiles calls to his magic and presses his hand to Chris’ back. He discretely pushes a protection charm through the connection. 

“I think you will find that won’t be necessary. Your little pet needn’t waste his energy. I have little intention of harming you, Christopher.” Behind the large desk, a man spins his chair to face them. He grins and adds, “Unless of course you wanted me to. In which case, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Stiles wants to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation. This guy is like a damned super villain all he needs is a cat to pet and a moustache to twirl. Stiles wants to laugh except… except he is caught off guard by the man himself. 

Peter Hale is beautiful. 

Stiles isn’t sure there’s a better way to describe him. He has perfect bone structure, a killer smile, and gorgeous blue eyes. They’re nothing like Chris’ blue, but no less striking. Goddess, everything about this man is elegant and tailored, from his expensive suit to his artfully styled goatee—which should be as bad as a damn moustache, but really isn’t. Everything about this man screams Alpha and Stiles can’t help his body’s reaction. 

Hale looks at him knowingly, and Stiles feels his face colour. He clears his throat and looks away, stupid freaking werewolves and their stupid noses. 

“My, my Christopher it has been a long time. Tell me, how is dear old dad? You know I had meant to send flowers after your sister’s untimely death. I still could I suppose. I could even add a nice note. How about, ‘dear Gerard, I do hope you choke on your own entrails. XOXO Peter. P.S do say hello to Kate in hell for me.’” Hale looks at them expectantly then asks, “No? Too formal?”

“I have no ties to my family anymore, Peter. Like you said, it’s been a long time. Things have changed,” Chris says earnestly. 

Hale’s eyes drop to where Stiles’ arm is wrapped around Chris’ back, and says bitterly, “Indeed they have.” 

Stiles can’t quite parse what he means by that.

Any warmth in Hale’s voice is gone when he asks, “What precisely are you doing here, Argent? I know you have no desire to socialize, so what is it? I am incredibly busy”

Chris crosses his arms defensively. “I need you to leave the faery boy, Linnek, alone. He didn’t know what he was getting in to when he borrowed money from you.” 

Hale scoffs. “That ‘boy’ is nearly four hundred years old. The fair folk don’t age after maturity, you know that.” His gaze slips to Stiles. “Even the partial ones. So do not insult me by pretending he was some naïve child. He knew exactly what he was doing, and he had every intention of ripping me off. I think you know that.”

Stiles takes a step forward. “Alpha Hale, please, he really didn’t know what he was getting in to. What if I pay his debt for him?”

Hale waves a hand dismissively and says, “Peter, if you would please. I do detest formalities. Besides, Alpha Hale is my sister. As for the money, there is no earthly way you could possess that much, so no you may not pay it for him.”

“There has to be something that you need. I do charms, wards, and runes. Whatever you want from me, you can have it. Just let Linnek out of his deal,” Stiles pleads.

“Anything?” Peter asks, his grin menacing. 

“Yes, anything I have or can do for you,” Stiles answers sincerely. 

Peter lounges back in his chair and says casually, “Fine. I would like Christopher.”

“I don’t – what no, you can’t. I didn’t,” Stiles stammers.

“Peter,” Chris cautions. 

Peter leans forward. He props his elbows up and steeples his fingers. – Jesus, this guy really is a super villain. “You said I can have anything I want, and I want Christopher. Actually to be more specific, I want Christopher back.” 

Stiles shakes his head in confusion. He’s having trouble processing all this information. “Look, I don’t know what you’re talking about, but Chris is a human being not some object. I can’t just give him to you. And even if I could give him away, I wouldn’t. So, no, you can’t have him.”

Peter heaves a dramatic sigh and, rises with all the grace and elegance Stiles would expect from an Alpha. Standing like this, Peter is even more imposing. He’s shorter than Stiles, but much broader and exudes a capableness that Stiles normally only attributes to Chris. 

“Have it your way then. Come with me.” Peter breezes past them and gestures for them to follow. 

They follow Peter back the way they came. Stiles can hear Blondie clicking away behind him. He suspects the sound is for dramatic effect. He thinks when she wants to be, she’s completely silent.

Once they reach the foyer, Peter leads them the opposite direction that they came in. They pass a TV room where a few other werewolves are lounging and talking. Blondie collapses into a massive guy’s lap. She winds her arms around his neck possessively. Despite the fact that the guy is probably three times her weight, Stiles is under no illusions about who’s the more dangerous one of the two. 

Peter keeps walking until they come to a truly impressive kitchen where a man is chopping vegetables. The guy is built solid, with dark hair, perfect stubble and chiseled features. He is, of course, unfairly attractive. Being around werewolves for any length of time is liable to give Stiles a complex. 

The guy looks up when they enter the room and freezes. Frankly, he looks terrified. And he’s staring right at Stiles. Wait, no, not at Stiles. He’s looking at Chris. 

Chris dips his head in acknowledgement. “Derek.”

Derek doesn’t move a muscle and his gaze stays fixed. The guy is seriously freaking Stiles out and, just when he thinks the guys going to lose it, a woman enters the kitchen from the other door. She has deep scars across her throat. They’re undeniably claw marks. “Derek, do you need any help? I thought I would—Oh, hello, Chris. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Braeden, I didn’t expect to see you here either. Are you working with the pack or…” Chris trails off. 

Braeden places a hand on Derek’s arm and squeezes. “I’m pack.” 

Chris looks surprised but his voice even is when he speaks, “Good, that’s good.”

Peter walks up to Derek and puts a hand on his neck. “It’s okay, pup. They’re here on friendly terms.” Derek visibly relaxes. 

Peter lets go of Derek and once again gestures for them to follow. As they pass the counter, Stiles can’t help but notice that the knife Derek had been holding is completely crushed. 

Once they clear the kitchen Stiles leans over to Chris and asks, “What the hell was that?”

Chris sighs and says, “Derek has been through a lot, more than any one person should ever have to go through. I’m sorry to say that my family played no small part in it.”

Stiles adds this to the list of things that aren’t adding up. He knew that Chris had been downplaying his connection to Peter and the Hales, but he clearly hadn’t known just how much. 

“You know it is quite rude to talk about people in their own home. Especially when they can here you. Werewolves remember?” Peter admonishes. 

Stiles reddens and stammers out an apology. Peter waves his concerns off. 

They finally stop in what seems to be a mudroom. There are shoe racks on one wall, an open closet filled with a variety of clothes on the other, and weirdly, a shower in the corner. 

Peter laughs at his look of confusion. “It’s for when we come in after shifting. We can have a shower, get dressed, that sort of thing. It’s incredibly convenient. You never know when you need to look your best.” 

Peter opens the back door. “After you.” 

The moment Stiles steps through the door, he feels that crushing weight in his chest again. Except it’s so much worse back here. Past the clearing, there’s a forest. 

This forest is like nothing he’s ever experienced before. He’s at least part fae. Every forrest should feel like hone to him, always has felt like home for him, but this? This is other. It’s foreign. 

Stiles is breathless when he speaks, “there’s something wrong here. It’s like nothing I’ve ever seen. It feels like sickness, like rot, like...” Stiles trails off, lost for words. 

“Like decay,” Peter states, solemnly. 

“Yes, that’s what I’ve been feeling since I got here. It’s death,” Stiles agrees. Things start to slide in to place and something dawns on him. He turns to face Peter and Chris. “Since I got here, I’ve had this pain in my chest and this overwhelming feeling that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But I know now. It’s grief. Fuck, It’s like I’m in mourning.”

Stiles rubs a hand across his chest, and Chris looks at him with so much concern it almost scares him. 

Peter nods gravely. “It makes sense you would feel it too. I feel it because of my connection to the land. You’re part faery, yes? So you would feel it through your connection to the flora and fauna. My territory is dying, you see. Day by day, hour by hour, it’s decaying more and more, and I have no idea why.” 

“And you want me to find out why?” Stiles asks. He thinks he already knows the answer. 

Peter smirks. “Oh no. That would be too easy. Your friend owes me an inordinate amount of money. No you’re going to need to fix it too.”

“This was your plan all along, wasn’t it? You trapped a fae into a contract he couldn’t fulfill. Instead of having him pay you, you were going to demand he do this for you. I don’t know why I’m surprised,” Chris states, incredulous.

Peter smirks. “Quite right, Christopher. Except that something tells me your boy here is much more suited to the job.”

Stiles does not like the sound of that.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for how long it took me to update. Life has been crazy busy this past month. 
> 
> Heads up I'll be playing pretty fast and loose with lore in this story. 
> 
> Trigger Warning for blood in this chapter. More information in the end notes.

“Bathroom?” Stiles gasps as he rushes back into the house.

 

Peter grasps his elbow and leads the way. Stiles thinks it must say a lot about how badly he’s feeling that he lets himself be pulled along without comment.

 

When they reach the bathroom, Stiles barely has enough time to get the toilet seat up before he loses his lunch. He throws up with so much force that his whole body convulses.

 

When it’s finally over, he collapses to the floor. He feels shaky and weak, and when Chris pets his forehead, he leans in to it gratefully. Goddess, he’d been so out of it he hadn’t even thought to see if Chris had followed.

 

Stiles looks up at Peter, incredulous. “That was the single most unpleasant thing I have ever felt.” That isn’t quite true. He felt worse when his mother died. What’s really disconcerting is how remarkably similar this feeling is. “How can you stand that?”

 

Peter shakes his head. “It’s not the same thing. For you, what you’re feeling is grief over the desecration of the land. The faery part of you is intrinsically linked to nature. For me, it’s a different. I don’t feel the land at all anymore. That’s the problem. I don’t feel any connection to my territory, and it’s wreaking havoc on my wolf. Alpha-hood is a delicate balance. We rely on many anchors to keep us whole. I cannot say this has not affected my control.”

 

“Peter,” Chris admonishes.

 

“Don’t worry captain code keeper. A slip up here or there is hardly the same thing as turning into a full-blown omega. No one is going to take your hall monitor sash away if you don’t report this,” Peter says dismissively.

 

Chris doesn’t look appeased by this. “Peter, I don’t think you should be so cavalier about this. Given your history –“

 

“Don’t,” Peter interrupts sharply. “Presume to talk to me to me about my history Christopher. I think I can cite extenuating circumstances on that, don’t you?”

 

Not for the first time since they arrived, Stiles feels like he’s missing something important. “What are you two even fighting about?”

 

Peter smiles sharply and says, “Christopher here believes that I’m going to turn feral. Which, according to his precious hunter code, are grounds to kill me.”

 

“I am not going to kill you, Peter. Jesus Christ, I’m just worried it could make you a target for hunters,” Chris says, exasperated.

 

Stiles doesn’t like the way the two of them sound so familiar with each other. Like they have been arguing with each other their entire lives. He also doesn’t like that Chris is so busy arguing that he seems to have forgotten that Stiles is still a shaky pile on the floor, less than a foot away from his own vomit. Stiles is used to Chris falling all over himself to make sure that he’s okay. He’s not used to being ignored like this.

 

Stiles sighs and heaves himself up and off the floor. He almost looses his balance three times, but does eventually manage to stand upright. Peter and Chris are still arguing beside him. Stiles is over it. He leans over, flushes the toilet, and leaves the room.

 

He tries to tell himself that it doesn’t hurt when he looks back and sees Chris isn’t following him.

 

He really hasn’t ever been any good at lying. Not even to himself.

 

Stiles makes his way back to the TV room and sees that Peter’s pack is still sitting there, now joined by Derek and Braeden. They’re all shoveling down bowls of what looks like stew. Say what you want about werewolves, but man, can they eat.

 

Derek looks up from his food. “I would offer you some, but I figured you probably wouldn’t want any,” He says, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom.

 

Stiles stomach does a somersault and he shakes his head. “Yeah, thanks, but no.”

 

Derek gestures for him to sit. Stiles sinks into the cushy leather gratefully. “So…” He starts awkwardly.

 

“So your boyfriend is pretty hot.” The blonde woman from earlier says, tapping her pouty lips with a spoon. “Or at least Peter thinks so.”

 

“Erica!” Derek admonishes.

 

Stiles narrows his eyes and studies her. When he’s confident there wasn’t any real malice in her tone, he shrugs and says, “Yeah, he’s grade A man meat. What can I say? I have excellent taste.”

 

Next to Stiles, a young guy with floppy hair and a crooked jaw asks, “So do you think you can do it? Help with the forest I mean. That is why you’re here, right?”

 

Erica crosses her arms and huffs, “I wanted to keep talking about hot daddy’s _man meat._ ”

 

Stiles snorts and turns to the guy next to him. “I don’t really know if I can help with that. Just being out there was enough to make me toss my cookies. Besides, I’m not actually here for that. I’m just here to get Peter to forgive someone’s loan.”

 

Derek shakes his head and mumbles, “good luck with that.”

 

“Not as such my dear,” Peter says as he strolls in to the room. “I am more than willing to forgive your fair cousin’s debt. But only if you commit to helping me first.”

 

“Cousin?” Chris asks, surprised.

 

Peter waves his hand dismissively. “The fair folk are all related in some way or another. They’re a rather incestuous people.”

 

Stiles crosses his arms and says indignantly, “That is a vast oversimplification. Faeries are related in the sense that they are born of the Queen and the earth. It’s more about ancient magic than actual biology anyway, so saying that they’re incestuous is actually pretty ignorant.”

 

Peter stares at Stiles intently for a moment before speaking, “Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, I am willing to forgive your friend’s little debt. And since I am so magnanimous, I will even clear the debt before you help me. I will give you the time that you need to go back and collect your reward, and I will even give you the time to do your job for the human. Let’s say one week, shall we? I think that is more than fair.”

 

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles asks, suspicious.

 

Peter smirks and says, “Christopher here made a very convincing argument.”

 

Stiles’ stomach gave an uncomfortable flip. He was never normally so jealous over Chris. Then again, Chris had never really given him a reason to be jealous before. “So that’s it then? You just let me go and trust that I come back?” Stiles asks warily.

 

“Not as such my dear,” Peter repeats. “I will be requiring something a little more substantial than that. How about a little collateral.” Peter’s gaze falls upon Chris, and Stiles’ stomach lurches again.

 

“No. No, I refuse,” Stiles states firmly. His anger is starting to grow, and with it, his magic. He takes a deep breath and allows it to settle.

 

Peter is gazing at him intently. The way he seems to look through Stiles is incredibly unnerving. “Well I can’t very well let you walk out of here without a guarantee that you will return. That just wouldn’t be… pragmatic.”

 

“A blood pact then,” Stiles suggests.

 

“Stiles,” Chris admonishes.

 

Stiles ignores him. He’s not particularly interested in what Chris has to say. Besides, he knows what he’s getting in to. “Then you have an absolute guarantee that I will come back.”

 

A slow grin spreads across Peter’s face and he says, “a blood pact, what a splendid idea.” He sounds so genuine that Stiles can almost believe this wasn’t what he was planning all along. Almost.

 

Peter steps forward and grasps Stiles hand. Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Chris start forward. He shakes his head and, surprisingly, Chris stays.

 

Stiles tries not to flinch as Peter draws a single claw across the palm of his hand. Blood wells up immediately.

 

“Do you commit to help me in my hour of need, Stiles?”

 

Stiles laughs and shakes his head. “You can’t trick a trickster, buddy. You’re not getting an open-ended favour from a half-fae, man. No way. Try getting a bit more specific.”

 

Peter can’t quite hide his irritation when he rephrases, “Do you commit to helping me restore my territory to its former health and vitality?”

 

Stiles nods, satisfied. He lifts his hand, and recites, “As her blood runs through my blood, and as the Queen’s word is truth, I do so swear.”

 

He places his palm flat across Peter’s chest, over his heart. Stiles takes a deep breath and begins to sing.

 

This tune isn’t familiar, but it still comes easily to him. The melody is solemn and the words are ancient. Stiles lets himself get lost in it.

 

As the song reaches its final cadence, the skin under Stiles’ hand glows brightly for a long moment. When it fades, Stiles pulls back his hand to reveal the mark branded onto Peter’s chest. It would look just like a tattoo of someone’s hand if it weren’t for one notable difference. The mark is, unsurprisingly, blood red.

 

Stiles looks down at his hand. The wound is still bleeding sluggishly. He looks back up at Peter and cocks an eyebrow. “You going to help a guy out?”

 

Peter lifts Stiles’ hand and brings it to his mouth. He laps at the wound, all the while maintaining eye contact. The way Peter is staring at him, with so much intensity, should be uncomfortable. Instead, it feels oddly intimate.

 

Stiles can feel heat pooling in his belly and his face flushing. He pulls his hand away, and watches as the wound slowly knits back together. He carefully avoids making eye contact with anyone.

 

“Whoa, can we do that?” A tall, curly haired beta asks excitedly.

 

Stiles shakes his head and replies, “Only with a magic user. Werewolf saliva is a catalyst for healing magic. Plus, you’re only a beta, so yours wouldn’t be as potent.”

 

The guy looks oddly disappointed by this. Stiles makes the mistake of looking back at Peter who chooses that exact moment to lick a stray drop of blood off his lips. Stiles blushes and drops his gaze.

 

“So, like? Did it work?” Crooked jaw asks, “What happens if you don’t help us?”

 

Stiles sighs deeply, but explains, “I have used my fae blood to barter an agreement in the name of the faery Queen, and her word is truth. She takes this very seriously. It is why faeries are physically incapable of telling a lie. If I were to somehow renege on my promise, I would be brought before the Queen, and I would be put to death.”

 

Stiles gulps and closes his eyes, adding, “and, because breaking these oaths is one of our highest crimes, she would ask her general to carry out the punishment.”

 

Peter looks intrigued, the bastard. “And who is her general that distresses you so?”

 

Chris is staring at him intently, trying to make eye contact. Stiles refuses to meet his eye as Chris asks, “your father? Linnek referred to your father as the general. Her general is your father?”

 

Stiles nods, solemnly.

 

“Dude, that’s fucked up,” crooked jaw mutters.

 

Chris looks thunderous as he grits out, “you’re telling me that your own father would kill you if someone told him to?”

 

“Not someone, Chris, the faerie Queen. Her word is truth; her word is law,” Stiles recites. “Supernatural species have rules, Chris. I would have thought you had that figured out by now. Just because you humans are truly governed only by your own needs and wants, doesn’t mean the rest of us are.”

 

Without another word, Stiles turns and leaves. No one stops him. They all know he’ll be back.

 

Right now, he has work to do.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: Stiles uses his own blood in a ceremony. Peter licks his wound to help heal him.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from MSMR, Hurricane.


End file.
